Luck O' the Irish
by TXMedic
Summary: A simple escort patrol turns out to be anything BUT simple. Please R&R.
1. Default Chapter

  
"Luck O' the Irish"  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the squad, they belong to ABC, or Paramount, I dunno.G  
I'm just borrowing them for a while.  
  
Copyright 2001  
  
Billy looked up from his lukewarm breakfast to see Doc staring darkly back at him. He gave Littlejohn, sitting on the bench next to him, a nudge and whispered, "Littlejohn, he's doing it again."  
  
Littlejohn wiped the coffee from his chin, spilled when Billy jabbed him, and sighed in exasperation. "What do you expect, Billy? You almost drowned him yesterday."  
  
"It was an accident! And, anyway, I've already apologized a dozen times. What does he want from me?"  
  
"He'd probably like a dry uniform for starters; it's cold out there today."  
  
Billy swallowed the bite of bread he'd just taken, and looked at his big friend in surprise. "Is it my fault he took off his pack?"  
  
"Billy! If he hadn't ditched the pack he'd have drowned. I barely managed to catch him as it was. Geez!"  
  
Turning his attention back to his food, Billy mumbled sullenly, "It was an accident. Coulda happened to anybody."  
  
Littlejohn just rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
Doc huddled over his plate, as if the powdered eggs would give him warmth. The shivering medic didn't think he'd ever be warm again. He shifted a couple inches to his right, trying to get closer to the body sitting next to him. If nothing else, the man would block the draft that seemed to seek out the damp medic and chill him to the bone.  
  
When Kirby felt Doc bump up against him, he turned to the medic and raised an eyebrow. "Something I need to know about you, Doc?"  
  
"What are you talking about, Kirby?"  
  
"Doc, you get any closer and you'll be sitting in my lap!"  
  
The medic blew into his cupped hands, trying to warm them. "I'm cold, Kirby. I'm just tryin' to get warm is all."  
  
"Yeah, well go cuddle up with Nelson then. He's the one that got you dunked in the river in the first place. Why don't you just make him give you his extra uniform? At least it's dry."  
  
Wrapping his hands around his cup, letting the coffee keep them warm, Doc shot the smaller man a look of annoyance. "He's wearin' his spare uniform, Kirby. The other one's wet from the river. Littlejohn got soaked pulling me outta the river, so HE doesn't have a dry uniform. Yours and Caje's won't fit."  
  
Kirby sighed and shifted away from the shivering medic. "Well, anyways, Doc...you're gettin' a little too close and personal."  
  
Doc clamped his left hand between his thighs, both in an effort to warm his fingers and to stop the shivering. Taking a bite of his soggy eggs, he settled his pensive gaze on Billy.  
  
"Psst, Littlejohn. He's doin' it again."  
___________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Sgt. Saunders stepped into the street, blinking in the sudden brightness. He zipped up his jacket and looked at the map he held. For some reason, his meeting with Lt. Hanley had left him feeling a little uneasy. He couldn't really put his finger on the reason why. It seemed simple enough. They'd patrol the same area they did yesterday. Except today, they'd take a little detour and pick up a war correspondent from a squad from Item Company.  
  
Maybe that was it. The correspondent.  
  
Apparently, he wasn't supposed to have left Item for King Company for a few weeks yet. However, Item Company decided to have him escorted a little earlier. That made Saunders wonder why. Maybe the guy was a real pain. Well, that was Hanley's problem. Saunders and his men were merely an escort.   
  
Thinking of the squad brought a smile to the sergeant's face. I'd better go see if Nelson's still among the living, he thought to himself.  
  
Saunders found his squad in the mess tent. By the sound of their voices, they were arguing. He saw Kirby pointing his fork at Littlejohn to emphasize his last statement.  
  
"Kirby, you point that thing at me again and you'll be eating it."  
  
"I'd like to see you try it, big man."  
  
Caje and Doc appeared to be trying to settle the two down. Billy was, wisely, keeping out of it.  
  
Saunders decided he'd better step in before things got out of hand. "Alright, you two. Knock it off! Since you've obviously finished eating, grab your gear. We've got a job to do."  
  
The men scrambled to clean up their messes and gather up their gear, Kirby and Littlejohn getting in a few parting shots.  
  
Saunders noticed that, although he was still wearing yesterday's damp uniform, Doc had managed to get a new medical bag and supplies. The sergeant wasn't exactly surprised that the medic had been unable to procure a new uniform. Getting replacements from supply was like pulling teeth with your bare hands.  
  
Well, although it was fairly cool, it was bright and sunny. Maybe Doc would manage to dry out, Saunders thought to himself. The blond sergeant hitched his Thompson higher, settling it more comfortably on his shoulder. "Alright, saddle up!"  
  
Kirby slipped his helmet on his head and fell in step with his sergeant. "What're we doin' today, Sarge?"  
  
Saunders pulled out his map and studied it again. "We're pretty much patrolling the same area as yesterday. This time, though, we'll swing north after crossing the river. About a mile and a half from the river, there's an old farmhouse where we will meet a squad from Item Company. We'll pick up a correspondent and escort him back here."  
  
Kirby groaned and kicked at a stone, sending it into the back of Caje's leg. "Aw, Sarge. Why do we always get stuck with escort duty?"  
  
"Well, it's obviously not because of your winning personality, Kirby. And if you kick another rock at me it's not going to be pleasant."  
  
"Shut up, Caje!"  
  
The exasperated sergeant sighed. It was going to be one of those days. "Both of you just knock it off! Caje-point. Kirby-rear."  
  
Caje walked forward to take his place at point, his jaw set and his back stiff. The sound of Kirby's grumbling floated from the rear.   
  
Saunders rolled his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face.  
  
*It's days like this that I feel like I'm leading a group of Boy Scouts, instead of a squad of grown men.*  
__________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
The squad made it to the river without incident, which left the men in better spirits. Caje crossed the icy river safely and scouted around to be sure all was clear.  
  
Saunders kept an eye on the far shore and, seeing Caje's gesture that all was clear, waved the others on.  
  
They crossed the swiftly moving current in single file. Doc made sure he kept as far away from Nelson as possible; one dunking in that cold water was enough.  
  
Kirby followed behind Doc, laughing the whole way. "Aw, c'mon Doc. What're the odds of Billy dragging you under again? I think he'd sooner drown, the way you've been staring daggers at him."  
  
The medic was too busy concentrating on his footing in the icy current to bother responding.  
  
Laughing too hard, Kirby nearly took a tumble into the river himself.  
  
Shivering as the water reached his waist, Saunders shook his head at the BAR man's antics. It would serve Kirby right if he got a dunking; he hadn't been particularly sympathetic to the medic's plight.  
  
Everyone made it safely across and they all stood there, shivering, as Saunders double- checked the map. They made the turn northward, sticking close to the trees. They were close now.   
  
Doc walked between Billy and Kirby, snuffling occasionally, then finally let loose the mighty sneeze he'd been unsuccessfully trying to stifle.  
  
He heard Kirby chuckling behind him.  
  
"Gesundheit!"  
  
Doc wiped his nose, and smirked at the BAR man.  
  
"Traitor!"  
____________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
The wind gusted through the trees, rustling the leaves and chilling the men who crouched beneath their overhanging branches.  
  
Caje crept over to Saunders and knelt next to him, adjusting his beret against the wind. "No krauts, Sarge. I saw some G.I.s moving around in the farmhouse, and one sentry over in the trees near the barn. Nothing else."  
  
Stretching out one leg to ward off an impending cramp, Saunders pushed his helmet back and looked around. "We'll wait and see what Littlejohn says, but it looks okay."  
  
They didn't have long to wait. The big private broke through the trees and dropped to one knee. "All clear, Sarge. Saw nothing but our own guys. No Germans."  
  
The sergeant stood and stretched, easing the kinks out of his back. "Let's go, and keep your eyes open. Just in case."  
  
As they slowly approached the farmhouse, the door opened and six men filed out. A tall sergeant with dark curly hair limped forward. "You guys with King company?"  
  
Saunders shifted his weight and rested the butt of his Thompson on his hip. "That's us. I'm Sgt. Saunders." He turned and pointed to each of his men, "Littlejohn, Caje, Nelson, Doc and Kirby."  
  
The tall sergeant reached forward to shake Saunders' hand. "I'm Sgt. Jacobs. Boy, are we glad to see you guys."  
  
Doc noticed that, with the exception of a redhead, every single soldier in Jacobs' squad sported a bandage, bruise, or limp.  
  
This fact didn't escape Saunders' notice, either. "Sergeant, what the heck happened to you guys? Are there Germans in this area?"  
  
The seemingly innocent question appeared to make Jacobs and his men nervous. Shuffling his feet and looking away, Sgt. Jacobs cleared his throat. "Ahh...we, uh, were ambushed." Jacobs turned back, meeting Saunders' stare, and added hastily, "But don't worry, there aren't any Germans in this area."  
  
The nervous sergeant wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs, and gave a shaky smile. He turned and gestured to the redhead to come forward. "This is O'Connor; he's the correspondent you'll be escorting. O'Connor, Sgt. Saunders and his men will take you the rest of the way."   
  
Saunders looked the correspondent over and frowned. "How did you manage to come out of the ambush unscathed?"  
  
The redhead smiled. "My mother always told me I had the luck of the Irish. Guess she was right."  
  
Saunders was dubious. Something seemed off about the whole thing; Jacobs and his men were acting strange. Yet the sergeant couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, really. It was just a feeling.  
  
Doc went to two of Jacobs' men sporting bandages, and started checking them over. He replaced the dirty bandage on one private's arm, and was startled when the man slipped a piece of paper into the medic's pocket. Doc was about to retrieve the paper to see what was written on it, when he heard Sarge calling for him.  
  
"Doc, you finished? We need to get going if we want to get back before dark."  
  
"Sure, Sarge. Just finishing up." Doc gave the wounded man a puzzled look, replaced his supplies in his bag, and returned to his squad.  
  
Saunders' reservations grew as the squad from Item company seemed to be in a big hurry to get away from the farmhouse. Something was definitely off.  
  
"Caje, take the point. Kirby, the rear."  
  
The sergeant turned to the correspondent. "O'Connor, you stick with Littlejohn."  
  
"My first name's Cunnigan, Sergeant."  
  
Saunders simply nodded. "Saddle up!"  
  
The men fell into step and headed south, back toward the river. The wind seemed to pick up, whistling eerily through the trees and stirring the leaves on the ground. Saunders felt a shiver go up his spine. *I have a bad feeling about this.*  
  
Doc fell into step next to Kirby and, remembering the wounded private, fished the piece of paper from his pocket. He read the words and frowned in puzzlement.  
  
"Whatcha got there?"  
  
"I don't know, Kirby. One of the guys from Item slipped it in my pocket when I was changing his bandage."  
  
"Well, what does it say?"  
  
Doc shrugged his shoulders, his brow furrowed in confusion. "It says 'Beware the luck of the Irish'."  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Billy stopped and bent over, cupping a hand over his left eye after O'Connor snapped yet another branch back in his face. The young private blinked furiously, his eye stinging and watering reflexively. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Doc's concerned face.  
  
Doc stood back in surprise at all the scratches on Billy's face and the red, watering eye. "Geez, Billy! What happened to you?"  
  
"Aw, that correspondent keeps snapping branches back at me. Every time I get close enough to try to tell him to stop, he snaps another one."  
  
Doc took a penlight from his bag and examined Billy's eye. Kirby, who'd caught up with them in time to catch the end of their conversation, snorted in amusement. "Ya know, Billy, you'd think you'd learn to duck."  
  
"You think this is so funny, YOU walk behind him and I'LL take the rear. See if you fare any better, wiseguy."  
  
"That's fine with me. Maybe I got better reflexes than you, kid." Kirby quickened his pace to catch up with the others, sure that he'd have no problem with O'Connor.  
  
Doc shook his head at the departing BAR man. He replaced the light in his bag and closed the flap, snapping it back into place. He turned back to face Billy, giving the younger man a reassuring smile.   
  
"We'll have to stop when we get to the river to make sure all's clear. I'll clean those scratches when we do, and have a talk with O'Conner about not letting the branches go like that." The medic slung his bag over his shoulder and slapped Billy on the back. "Let's catch up with the others before Sarge sends someone back for us."  
  
Billy rubbed his eye with his knuckles and smiled. "Sure, Doc, and thanks."  
  
Doc just flashed a crooked grin and trotted after Kirby's receding form, leaving Billy to follow at the rear.  
  
True to his word, as soon as the sergeant called a halt at the edge of the trees, Doc spoke quietly to the eager correspondent. O'Connor nodded his head at the what the medic had to say, then followed Doc as the medic went to clean Billy's scratches. As Doc pulled out the needed supplies, O'Connor promptly apologized to Nelson.  
  
"That's alright, Cunnigan. Just forget it. Everyone makes mistakes." Billy gave a wry smile to Doc, who was gently cleaning the scratches on the young private's face. "Just ask Doc; I'm sure he'll tell ya I make mistakes same as the next guy."  
  
The medic just snorted in amusement, intent on what he was doing. Doc finished cleaning the last wound and repacked his supplies. "All set, Billy. We'll make sure a doctor takes a good look at that eye when we get back. Just to make sure it's okay."  
  
Doc slapped at Nelson's hand as the younger man began to rub at the eye. "Stop rubbing it; if it is injured, you might make it worse."  
  
Billy frowned. *Oh, boy. That'll take some willpower.*  
  
Saunders returned to the others and waved an arm. "Caje says it's all clear; let's go."  
  
Kirby sighed in relief as he successfully rooted out the small pebble that had been making his life a misery. He replaced his right boot, buckled it, and smiled in pure bliss as he wiggled his toes. He climbed happily to his feet, lifted his BAR and followed Littlejohn into the river.  
  
Billy winced at the cold as he followed behind Kirby, being especially careful where he placed his feet. He didn't want a repeat of yesterday.  
  
Doc let O'Connor precede him into the river. Maybe he was being paranoid, but the medic simply wanted as much space between himself and Nelson as possible. Doc frowned when O'Connor stopped about halfway across the swiftly moving water. As the medic caught up to the struggling man, Cunnigan frowned in disgust. "Doc, my foot's caught between two rocks. I can't get it out."  
  
Doc sincerely hoped this wouldn't end like it did yesterday. "Here, hold my bag. Make sure you keep it out of the water." The medic reached down, feeling the imprisoned foot with his hands. His face hovered a scant inch from the water as he tried to maneuver the stones.  
  
Spying a sizable log floating towards them from upstream, Cunnigan began to jerk his leg in an effort to free himself.  
  
"Hold still a minute. I can't do anything with you movin' around like that." The medic was oblivious to the impending danger.  
  
Kirby, Billy and Littlejohn stood with Caje. All three had made it to shore safely, and stood with Caje. The scout, seeing Doc stop and hand over his bag, passed his M-1 to Littlejohn and began making his way to the pair. He waved to Saunders, standing guard on the opposite shore, to let the sergeant know he would take care of it.  
  
O'Connor, seeing the log getting closer, was frantically struggling to get free.  
  
"Cunnigan, would ya stop jerking like that? I can't get this rock to budge because you keep pinching my fingers!"  
  
Finally seeing the danger, Caje waved quickly at Sarge and shouted a warning to Doc. With the roaring of the current and the splashes from the thrashing correspondent, Doc missed the warning.  
  
Caje picked up his pace, desperately trying to reach the struggling pair. O'Connor, watching as the log drifted ever closer, went into full panic mode. The correspondent gave one last mighty tug...just as Doc finally managed to move one of the rocks.  
  
Caje had almost reached the pair, when it happened. He couldn't believe it. Cunnigan gave a jerk, his leg came free...and his knee caught Doc right in the face. The medic never made a sound; he just dropped like a felled tree.  
  
Lunging forward, the lithe Cajun managed to grasp the collar of Doc's jacket. He hauled the medic's face from the water, gave O'Connor a hard shove, and turned his body to protect the unconscious medic as best he could.   
  
Caje felt a pounding blow, something gave in his right wrist, and he lost his grip on Doc. The stunned scout thrashed wildly, snatched Doc's limp arm and tried to keep their faces out of the water. He caught a kaleidoscopic view of sky and clouds, as the current spun them around every time he tried to plant his feet.   
  
Caje's numb fingers were losing their grip on Doc, and he couldn't get his head clear of the river. His water-laden clothes and web belt dragged him down. Even though the water wasn't that deep, he was unable to regain his footing in the swifly moving current.   
  
Just when Caje thought all was lost, he felt hands clutching his jacket and jerking him toward the surface. His head broke free of the water, and he breathed in great gulps of air. The sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.  
  
Saunders had seen Caje's frantic wave and started across the river, then picked up his pace when he saw the danger heading for the two struggling forms in the middle.  
  
Hearing the Cajun's warning shout to Doc, Kirby had dropped his BAR to run into the icy water at the same instant as his sergeant. He had been stunned when Caje and the medic slipped under the water, but redoubling his effort to reach the pair, he'd managed to reach the sinking medic at the same moment Sarge grabbed Caje's jacket.   
  
Kirby hefted his burden and made his way toward shore, concerned at the medic's lack of movement.   
Billy waded out to Kirby and tossed one of Doc's arms over his shoulder, helping to half-carry the medic to land. O'Connor, escaping the incident without a scratch, followed behind the threesome.  
  
Once on shore, the medic was lowered to the ground. Kirby peered at Doc's face. He simply couldn't believe what had just happened.   
  
Blood ran freely from the medic's nose and busted lip. Kirby felt Doc's nose and it didn't seem to be broken. From the rattling noise the medic made, however, blood must be running down his throat.  
  
Kirby quickly rolled Doc onto his side and the rattling noise ceased. The wiry man heaved a sigh of relief and glanced up at O'Connor.  
  
The correspondent had his hand out, offering Kirby gauze from Doc's bag. Fortunately he'd managed to keep the medical bag dry during their little adventure.  
  
Without a word, Kirby took the gauze and cleaned Doc's face the best he could. He grimaced in sympathy as the medic began to groan.  
  
O'Connor was relieved to see the medic beginning to show signs of life. He stared into Kirby's angry face a moment, then began to fiddle with the strap on the medical bag. "I'm sorry, Kirby. It was an accident. Really. My foot just popped out, and before I could catch myself...my knee hit him. I'm really sorry."  
  
Kirby looked up from his ministrations, eyes flashing. O'Connor did seem contrite, but still...  
  
"Look Cunnigan, just...be more careful from now on. Maybe it was an accident, but you've managed to incapacitate two of our guys now. Watch what you're doin'!"  
  
Helping Doc sit up as the medic started to come around, Kirby shook his head.  
*Sheesh! Is this guy a jinx, or what?*  
  
Kirby looked over at Caje as Saunders and Littlejohn eased the Cajun to sit on the ground.  
  
"Hey, Caje. You okay?"  
  
Caje cradled his throbbing right arm in his left, and hissed between clinched teeth. "I think my wrist's busted. Oh, man."  
  
Looking at Doc, who was now awake but with an unfocused gaze, Kirby laughed half-heartedly. "Well Caje, I don't think Doc's gonna be much help right now, so I'm afraid you're stuck with us."  
  
With some bandages and tape from Doc's bag, and a couple of sticks Billy found, Saunders and Littlejohn managed to splint Caje's wrist. The scout slipped his right arm into his jacket and buttoned it up, making a sling.   
  
Kirby, meanwhile, was unsuccessfully trying to stem the flow of blood from Doc's nose with some gauze. His attempts were thwarted by the dazed medic, who kept clumsily reaching up to push Kirby's hand away.   
  
Billy stood watching the wrestling match for a few moments, and finally lost his battle to keep from laughing as Kirby grew more frustrated.  
  
The BAR man would grab one hand, only to have Doc reach up with the other. Finally giving up, Kirby glared at Billy.  
  
"You think this is funny? Why dontcha give me a hand here, Laughing Boy? This is like fighting an octopus."  
  
The two fought with the medic for several moments, then gave up in defeat. They were afraid further attempts to restrain the man would cause more harm than good.  
  
"Leave him alone for a few minutes, guys. He's not gonna bleed to death, and as soon as he wakes up a little more he'll take care of it himself."  
  
Billy and Kirby hauled themselves to their feet, both breathing a little heavier from their efforts.   
  
Catching his breath, Kirby nodded his agreement. "You got it Sarge. I wouldn't really know what to do, anyway. My mother always told me to tilt my head back when I had a nosebleed. But every time I try to get Doc to do that, he chokes."  
  
Doc sat on the hard ground, shivering. His teeth chattered so hard, he was starting to worry that he'd break one. Everything was kinda fuzzy. He looked around and saw Caje sitting on the ground with his arm tucked in his jacket, Littlejohn kneeling next to him.  
  
The medic realized that he was soaking wet, and suddenly remembered the river. That's where it got confusing. He looked up to see Sarge, Billy and Kirby standing over him.  
  
Doc reached up to wipe his runny nose, only to end up with blood all over his hand. *Where did that come from?* Things were definitely fuzzy. He was sure he remembered taking an unexpected bath in the river...and something to do with Billy.  
  
The medic held a hand to his nose and stared accusingly at Billy.  
  
"Oh, no! It wasn't me this time, Doc. I swear!"  
  
Doc switched his gaze to his sergeant. "Is this yesterday, Sarge?" *I seem to remember something about a redheaded guy. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing?*  
  
Saunders rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. He cleared his throat, and made a serious face. "No, Doc. Just a very weird case of deja vu."  
  
The blond sergeant knelt next to Doc and handed the medic some clean gauze. He watched as the medic took the gauze, pinched his nose shut, and leaned forward.  
  
"Things coming into focus now, Doc? Do you remember what happened?"  
Doc leaned over and spat a mouthful of blood on the grass and nodded. When he spoke, his voice was nasally and hoarse. "I rebember subbody gedding sduck in da river."  
  
The medic's eyes widened when memory came flooding back. He turned to the other man standing nearby. "O'Codder was da one. Are do okay?"  
  
Cunnigan shuffled his feet and chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I'm fine. Not a scratch. Say, I'm really sorry about what happened. It was an accident."  
  
Doc just nodded his acceptance of the man's apology. The medic was soaking wet, AGAIN, cold as a block of ice, and his face throbbed. To top it off, he could feel the onset of one dilly of a headache. He simply didn't have the energy to hold a grudge.  
  
"Sarge, cad do hand be sub aspirid?"  
  
It took the sergeant a second to interpret what the medic had said, then Saunders searched around until he came up with the aspirin bottle. Tilting two of the little pills onto his hand he offered them to Doc, along with his canteen.  
  
Doc took the water gratefully, first rinsing his mouth, then he swallowed the two aspirin. He was careful not to bump the canteen against his torn lip. He handed the canteen back to Saunders with a grateful nod.   
  
"Thangs, Sarge. Id Caje okay?"  
  
"His wrist may be broken, but he's going to be alright. We splinted it for him, but you might want to take a look at it if you feel up to it."  
  
Doc carefully brought his hand away from his nose to see if the bleeding had stopped. It had. He felt the bridge of his nose, gingerly. It didn't seem to be broken. The medic was grateful for that much, at least.  
  
Saunders stood and helped the medic to his feet. Doc staggered a few steps before he gained his equilibrium. He knelt next to Caje and gently removed the arm from the Cajun's jacket.  
  
"Looks like dey did a good job, Caje."  
  
Doc checked the radial pulse on the injured wrist, and pinched the fingertips, to make sure the splint wasn't on too tight. "Did do take iddy aspirid?"  
  
Caje tried very hard not to laugh at the poor medic. The combination of Doc's Arkansas accent and the current state of his nasal passages was highly amusing to the Cajun.  
  
"Ah, yeah, I took some aspirin. It should start to kick in soon. I'm fine, Doc,really."  
  
Saunders, however, found nothing amusing in this situation at all. Caje had a possibly broken wrist. Doc had had his bell rung, but good. Both had nearly drowned. Plus, the sergeant had the sneaking suspicion that the correspondent was the cause of the scratches all over Billy's face.  
  
After giving the two wounded men ten minutes to rest, Saunders sighed and motioned for Billy to take the point. "Alright, guys, saddle up!"  
  
The sergeant removed his helmet to run a hand through his blond hair. *I knew it was gonna be one of those days.*  
  
Well, these things were supposed to happen in three's. They'd had their three. 


	2. A jinx...or just bad luck?

  
  
Kirby shook his head in disbelief. There was Littlejohn, talking to O'Connor about the finer points of farming as if nothing had happened. Well, Kirby was no fool. He knew a jinx when he saw one. He was keeping as far away from the correspondant as humanly possible.  
  
Thinking of the correspondant turned his attention to the man walking beside him. Doc was a picture of abject misery. The medic's split lips were purple with cold, his nose was swelling, and it looked like he was getting a nice pair of shiners. Caje, walking a few steps in front of the pair, didn't look a whole lot better.  
  
"Hey, Doc. You doin' okay?"  
  
The medic shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, seeking for warmth that wasn't there. "Yeah, Kirby. Jus' code. Jus' wanna go do bed ad nod ged up for a bonth."  
  
Kirby laughed quietly. "Yeah, going to bed for a month sounds like a good idea."  
  
Caje slowed his steps to allow Doc and Kirby to catch up to him. He pulled up the collar of his jacket in an effort to block the wind that seemed to find its way down his neck. "Hey, Doc. Is it okay if I have some more aspirin? My wrist is starting to throb."  
  
Doc shook two of the little white pills into Caje's palm, then reached for a canteen. "Wadder?"  
  
"No. I've got plenty." Caje swallowed the chalky tablets in relief. He slipped the canteen back on his belt and frowned at Kirby. "What do you make of this guy? I can't believe his luck; he comes out of that without a scratch, and Doc and I are miserable."  
  
Kirby chuckled mirthlessly, "Did you see the guys from Item? Every one of them had an injury of some sort. Did Doc tell ya what one guy said? He slipped a piece of paper in Doc's pocket that said 'Beware the luck of the Irish'."  
  
Kirby nodded at Caje's look of disbelief. "No, I'm serious. Doc showed it to me. I'm tellin' ya, the guy's a jinx."  
  
Caje shook his head and picked up his pace. "Kirby, I don't believe in those kinds of things. It's just a coincidence, that's all."  
  
"Believe what ya want, but I'm keepin' my distance."  
  
The Cajun ignored him and caught up to Billy.  
  
"Well, Doc, ya can't say as I didn't warn him. But then again, I guess you and Caje already got yours. Billy too, I guess."  
  
Doc just ignored the nervous man's chatter, too intent on his own misery to care.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
"So your farm was mostly produce then?", Cunnigan asked.  
  
O'Connor kept pace with Littlejohn, the two men sharing their childhood memories of growing up on farms. Cunnigan's green eyes danced with amusement at the big private's enthusiasm.  
  
Littlejohn returned the correspondent's smile, happy to find a kindred spirit. Even if the guy did grow up on a dairy farm, instead of a "real" farm like his.  
  
"Yeah. Corn, beans, cabbage. Stuff like that. I have an uncle who sharecrops cotton on a farm in Mississippi. His family has to hand-pick that stuff. Talk about work!"  
  
The two were walking in amiable companionship, deep in conversation, when Cunnigan caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something darted towards the correspondent, and Cunnigan jumped to his left in surprise. He plowed into Littlejohn, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs.  
  
"Get off me, Littlejohn. I can't breath!"  
  
"Well, get your elbow outta my ear!"  
  
Slipping his Thompson over his shoulder, Saunders motioned for Billy to give him a hand. The two men managed to untangle Littlejohn and the correspondent. Littlejohn sat on the ground holding his left knee, wincing in pain.   
  
O'Connor dusted himself off, and appeared to have come out of the mess none the worse for wear. Again.  
  
Saunders removed his camo helmet and slapped it against his thigh. This was turning into a disaster. "Doc!"  
  
The medic jogged over as fast as his aching head would allow. Doc knelt next to Littlejohn and shook his head. This was getting out of hand. "Led be see your dee, Liddlejod."  
  
Wincing, Littlejohn rolled up his trouser leg. The knee was sore and would probably start to swell pretty soon.   
  
Doc poked at the knee, and manipulated the joint until he was satisfied that it wasn't broken. He pulled a bandage roll from his bag, and wrapped the knee to give it support.  
  
"I don' thing id's busded, Sarge. Jus' sprained."   
  
Doc thought to himself that it was a good thing he got new supplies that morning. At this rate, he'd run out of bandages before they could get home.  
  
Holding out his hand, Saunders hauled Littlejohn to his feet. The sergeant watched as the private paced around, testing his knee. Saunders turned a baleful look on O'Connor.  
  
"O'Connor, you watch what you're doing. It was just a rabbit, for cryin' out loud! So far you've managed to half-drown two men and injure Littlejohn, and don't try to tell me you aren't responsible for the cuts on Billy's face. Keep an eye on where you're going, and your mind on the business at hand. You understand me?"  
  
The correspondent nodded his head, looking a little shell shocked.  
  
Four men injured on a simple escort patrol, Saunders thought, and they hadn't even run into any Germans. How was he going to explain it to Hanley? Saunders hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was developing a headache.  
  
"Littlejohn, can you walk okay?"  
  
"Yeah, Sarge. It just hurts a little, but seems to work alright."  
  
"Alright, guys, let's go. And for Pete's sake, watch where you're going!"  
  
Kirby was getting pretty scared now. It was down to him and Sarge. Kirby didn't think even O'Connor was stupid enough to rub his jinx off on the sergeant. That only left himself.  
  
*Oh, man. I'm dead meat.*  
___________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
They were almost home, and Kirby was starting to breathe a little easier. Maybe he'd make it after all. He still wasn't going to take any chances, though. Kirby kept his eye on the correspondent, watching the man's every move.  
  
Doc reached out to catch Kirby, when the smaller man tripped over a root and stumbled.  
  
"Kirby, wadch whad you're doin'."  
  
"I can't help it, Doc. He's gonna get me, I know it. I gotta be ready for him."  
  
Caje shook his head in disbelief. He scratched at the stubble on his chin, laughing. "Kirby, you are way too paranoid. It's just a bunch of accidents. A coincidence. We're just having a bad day, nothing else."  
  
"Accidents?! What about what happened to you and Doc?"  
  
"What about it? Billy pulled Doc under when he lost his balance yesterday, and you didn't call Billy a jinx."  
  
"Billy's just clumsy; he's not a jinx. This guy's a jinx. Mark my words." Kirby shifted his BAR and gripped it tighter, as if for security.  
  
Doc was trying hard not to sneeze, but he could feel it tickling the back of his throat. Trying to take his mind off it, he threw in his two cents. "Kirby, you gotta worry aboud you, more dan O'Codder. You keeb tribbing over sduff 'cause you don' loog where you're goin'."  
  
Kirby turned to Caje with a puzzled look.  
  
Caje chuckled and slapped Doc on the back. "What he said was, you need to worry about yourself. You're so busy worrying about what O'Connor might do, that you keep tripping over everything. The only person who's going to cause you harm is Kirby."  
  
Kirby shook his head and waved an arm at the pair. "That's bunk; you guys are nuts! I know what I know."  
  
Chuckling as Kirby jogged to catch up to Billy, Caje nudged Doc. "What do you want to bet that goldbrick hurts himself before we can get back?"  
  
The two men shared a laugh and picked up their pace.  
  
The closer the squad got to camp, the more paranoid Kirby became. He suddenly snapped to attention, realizing he'd lost sight of the correspondent. Kirby whipped his head around to check behind him. Geez, the LAST place he wanted O'Connor was behind him.  
  
Only Doc and Caje walked behind him, so Kirby jerked his head back to the front. The next thing he knew he was flat on his back, staring up into the laughing faces of Caje and Doc.  
  
"I tode you, Kirby."  
  
"Yeah, Kirby. Doc told you it would happen. You were so busy looking for Cunnigan, you didn't see that nice big tree branch right in front of you. Serves you right."  
  
Kirby moaned and felt his head for damage. He found a little stickiness and what he was certain was going to be a goose egg eventually.  
  
A third face joined the other two as Saunders hovered over Kirby's head. The BAR man felt more than a little stupid.  
  
Doc leaned down and helped Kirby stand. The medic checked Kirby's pupils, then cleaned and bandaged the jagged cut on the smaller man's brow.  
  
"How bany fidgers do you see, Kirby?"  
  
"Two."  
  
"He's nod hurd thad bad, Sarge."   
  
Doc handed Kirby some aspirin and a canteen. The medic started to return the aspirin bottle to his bag then, thinking better of it, he handed Caje two of the little white pills. He then took two himself. At the rate they were going, Doc would have to have the bottle refilled soon.  
  
Removing his helmet, Saunders ran a hand through his damp, blond hair. He started to say something to Kirby, then gave up. He simply shook his head, replaced his helmet, and made a defeated gesture.  
  
"Let's go, before something else happens."  
  
The weary sergeant had never seen a more ragged squad than the one that marched its way into the village an hour later.  
  
*I should have volunteered the squad for that suicide mission this morning when I had the chance. I think we'd have been better off.*  
______________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
Lt. Hanley was making his way through a seemingly endless pile of paperwork, when Sgt. Saunders stepped through the door. A tall redheaded man followed behind the sergeant.  
  
Hanley stood and extended his hand to the newcomer. "O'Connor, I presume."  
  
The correspondent shook the lieutenant's hand with enthusiasm. "Cunnigan O'Connor, Lieutenant. I'm to spend a few weeks with your platoon."  
  
Clearing his voice, Saunders interrupted, "Excuse me, Lieutenant. If you don't need me for anything, I need to go check on my men at the aid station."  
  
Lt. Hanley raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was supposed to have been an easy escort patrol. "Was someone injured, Sergeant?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Well, who?"  
  
Staring pointedly at the correspondent, Saunders frowned. "All of them, sir."  
  
Stunned, Hanley leaned forward intently. There hadn't been any reports of Germans in that area. "You mean ALL of them?! What on earth happened?"   
  
Holding up his hand, Saunders counted the injuries off on his fingers.   
  
"Billy's face was scratched up when 'someone' snapped branches back at him. He may have scratched an eye. Doc got bashed in the nose, then half-drowned, trying to get O'Connor's foot unstuck in the river. Caje broke his wrist, and nearly drowned, trying to help Doc. Littlejohn sprained his knee when O'Connor, scared by a rabbit, knocked him down."  
  
Hanley frowned when Saunders stopped. There was one man missing.  
  
"And Kirby?"  
  
The disgusted sergeant rolled his eyes. "Kirby got so paranoid that something was going to happen to HIM, that he wasn't watching where he was going. Knocked himself silly on a tree branch."  
  
"You're kidding?"  
  
Saunders sighed in defeat. "No, Lieutenant, I'm not kidding."  
  
The lieutenant dropped back into his chair. Five men injured. Great, he thought, more paperwork for him to fill out. Hanley's voice stopped Saunders as he turned to leave.  
  
"Wait, Sergeant. I need to assign O'Connor to a squad. How about if he hangs out with you and your men?"  
  
Holding up a hand, Saunders glared balefully at his Lieutenant. "No sir. I think my men and I have had all we can take."  
  
Without another word, the sergeant slipped his helmet on his head and stepped outside.  
  
Lt. Hanley stared after the departing Saunders, puzzled. This was so unlike the sturdy sergeant. He shook his head and smiled at the new correspondent. "So, O'Connor, how did you manage to avoid being injured, too?"  
  
Cunnigan smiled, his green eyes sparkling. "The luck of the Irish, Lieutenant. Must be the luck of the Irish."  
  
Finis 


End file.
